Last night, while travelling back home,
with a tired pair of eyes
and lethargic senses,
I heard two strangers, sitting right beside me,
talking about the stars, the sun, the moon and in an instance,
the sky.
I smiled to myself,
thinking of how the human kind talks about such beautiful things,
writes poetries, invents metaphors , and even knits stories by themselves,
but they never make an attempt to flutter their wings and breath in, up above the sky.
Perhaps, the world is too sad.
and the human heart is too heavy,
loaded with sordid grief
and to some extent,
even with guilt.
A desire to escape resides in all of their hearts, but sadly, the mind knows the very bitter truth.
Hence, none of us is capable of exploring the beauty of the universe like the flying creatures around.
A pair of wings isn't necessary to touch the clouds,
A pure heart and a selfless soul is enough, at times.
But after all,
unfortunately, at the end,
none of us is selfless enough,
none of us is pure enough,
and absolutely none of us is fearless enough,
to spread out the wings from our inner selves, and show the world what we really are.
We all are sinners,
and we belong to the rigidity of hell,
not with the heaven of air.
YOU ARE READING
The Untold Stories.
Short Story// The Untold Stories. \\ " We're about the books we read, and the poems we love." - Kritika Banerjee. A collection of paragraphs, nanotales, poetry and thoughts from my journey. Highest Rank - #78 in short stories on 29/6/17 ...
